Enlisting

Dearest Rachel –

You’d think I’d been eating too heavily too late at night on a regular basis, judging from the number of weird dreams I’ve been having (and telling you about) lately. and maybe I have, come to think of it – it is the holiday season, after all. Although, considering my continuing efforts at weight loss, you’d think I’d know better than to eat too much too close to the end of the day. Not only is it self-defeating toward that end, but you wind up with visions like these.

Last night’s was particularly surreal, in that it would be something that I would never do in real life – and I would never have been let in, given my physical condition and my age. Moreover, I wouldn’t have any clear motivation to sign up for the armed forces at this point in my life. It’s not like I’m poor and just starting out in life, or in need of some level of discipline or training to “make a man out of me” – if I’m not a man at this stage in my life, there really isn’t any hope for me in that direction. And while I may still be suffering from a lost love to the extent that might cause a man to sign of for the Foreign Legion, I don’t think my situation is quite the same thing as that old trope.

To be sure, I think my dream self was aware of this to a certain extent as well; the questionnaire I filled out as part of my enlistment program included questions about my life experiences. One of these was a question about one’s biggest mistakes; you can probably guess before I tell you, but I put down something along the lines of “signing up” for this stint in the armed forces. I also found myself, wondering a.) how many of my fellow enlistees put the same answer down for this question, b.) why would they include this on the questionnaire in the first place, given how many people would probably do likewise, and c.) what would they do to the wiseacres who put this answer down right from the jump. Was this their way of weeding us out? “Hmm… this fellow’s gonna be a troublemaker; we’d better keep an eye on him.” If that was the case, why induct us in the first place? Who wants an obviously reluctant soldier, unless they were that strapped for volunteers? It didn’t seem to bode well for the future, be it mine or the military’s, to be honest.

And it only got stranger from there, insofar as our drill sergeant was killed shortly after our platoon began basic training, and for whatever reason, it fell to me to figure out what happened. That, or I simply got it in my head to investigate the weirdest part of an already weird situation, in hopes that I could make something of myself in the improbable position I’d found myself in.

It’s a plotline that movies are made out of – or perhaps, my mind cobbled together the plotlines of several half-remembered movies that already exist. I think you could picture elements of both “Stripes” and “Full Metal Jacket” incorporated in the skeletal frame of the story as I’ve thus far divulged, with a dose of “A Few Good Men” thrown in for good measure.

Unfortunately, I was unable to unwind the mystery behind my sergeant’s death, as dreams don’t always (or often, even) manage to reach their denouement safely before one ascends to consciousness. To be honest, I think I was still trying to wrap my head around what I was even doing here in the first place; sure, I’m more fit now than I have been in decades, and with Daniel being mostly self-sufficient, I could strike out on my own easier than ever. But the military? I’m too old and too blind; I would never have passed the physical, even at my peak. Nor would I want to be a part of what seems to have turned into the world’s policeman, right down to the fact that it sometimes seems that every nation on earth hates us (including ours) until they’re facing down bigger guns than theirs. No, thank you, that’s not the place for me.

So yeah, I never managed to figure out what happened with regard to the murder; it wouldn’t surprise me if it had turned out to be me, and I’d just blacked it out of my memory somehow. It’s just the sort of twist ending that Hollywood would eat up with a spoon (and a healthy dollop of self-loathing doesn’t hurt, either, especially given the subject matter). Still, that’s for someone else to develop if they want; personally, it sounds a bit derivative at this point, and I want no more part in it than I would to sign up for a stint under Uncle Sam’s command these days. Frankly, I’ve got enough to deal with on the home front as it is.

And with that having been said, honey, I’d ask you to keep an eye on me for the day, and wish me luck. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it.